


Protection

by rhiannonhero



Category: Queer as Folk (US) RPS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-08
Updated: 2004-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiannonhero/pseuds/rhiannonhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Disclaimer: </strong>All<br/>events described in this story are entirely fictitious. The author does not<br/>pretend to know the actors (or other real people) whose physical appearance<br/>and general circumstances are being exploited herein for fantasy fodder and<br/>amusement. Insult or injury is not intended. If you can not seperate fantasy<br/>from reality, read no further.</p><p>For starflower51 and quinn222<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Protection

**Author's Note:**

> _Sometimes  
>  you look so small,  
> Need some shelter.  
> Just runnin' round and round,  
> Helter skelter.  
> And I've leaned on me for years  
> Now you can lean on me.  
> And that's more than love,  
> That's the way it should be._
> 
>  _I stand in front of you  
>  I'll take the force of the blow._~  
> Massive Attack  
> 

It was always at publicity events or other industry functions that  
it became clear to me just how weird Gale can be. And I don't just mean  
weird with his strange jokes and handstands, but weird when it came to me.  
I don't know if it 's because I'm younger, or because I'm smaller,  
or if it's just that he knew how uncomfortable those events made me,  
but he just sort of hovered. Even if he was across  
the room, he was hovering. I'd be standing at a party having a martini  
or a beer, talking to some hot guy or a random chick, and look up  
to see his eyes on me, his expression concerned and measuring, as  
though he was watching for any signal that I needed to be bailed  
out.

Like take the Vanity Fair photo shoot, for example. I was tired  
and nervous, a little strung out from too much drinking the night  
before, and, okay, yeah, a little excited to be meeting everyone,  
and Gale sensed that. He stuck by me through most of the day and  
whenever anyone else came close, he watched them like a hawk. It  
was as though he was afraid they'd either suddenly attack me or  
devour me whole on the spot. He eyed each new person suspiciously  
and, depending on how he sized them up, he'd either relax and look  
away, throw his arm over my shoulder protectively, or glare them  
down. Kyan joked that I needed to tell my boyfriend to back off  
before _real_ rumors got started, as though the ones already  
floating around about us weren't real enough.

I think the worst incident, though, was when a rather forceful group  
of paparazzi chased us into a stupid publicity function in LA. I  
don't even remember what it was for. What I do remember is Gale  
grabbing my arm, forcing me through the crowd, and nearly taking  
some photographer out in the process. When we made it into the lobby,  
I swear to God, I thought he was going to strip me and check for  
damage. Maybe he would have if some idiot reporter for fucking E  
News or something hadn't hustled over with mic in hand. Gale pushed  
me half behind him, fumbled ridiculously through some short questions,  
and then hustled me down the hall. Talk about starting some rumors.

It's kind of nice in one way, flattering and stuff. It made my heart  
beat faster and my knees go weak. But then I would remember that  
he was straight and I'd get kind of pissed off about it. When I  
could fool myself into believing that it was the over-protectiveness  
of a man toward his lover, I got pretty hot and bothered by the  
whole thing. I'm enough of a queen to get off on that. But when  
I remembered that it was really the over-protectiveness of an older  
sibling for his little brother, I tasted sour grapes. It was the  
hurt of the let down all over again, just like when I first read  
that article, when I first found out for sure that he wasn't gay.

I mean, I guess I always knew. As he said himself: "All the gay  
guys I work with assume that I'm straight, so." He's right. I had  
assumed. But I had also _hoped_. We were always so playful  
together, so affectionate--back rubs and casual touching, so I'd  
let myself think that maybe, just maybe.

I never understood his reticence to just be upfront about his sexuality.  
He seemed to think that if the public was going to accept Brian  
as a gay male predator, they'd need to believe the actor was gay,  
too. I didn't know about that. Sometimes when I would read over  
that article, and, yeah, I read it pretty often because I was a  
masochist like that, I focused on the descriptions surrounding his  
answer and I could just see him. His boots up, his head back and  
his eyes anywhere but on the reporter's face as he tried to figure  
out just what he wanted to say, as he tried to side-step the whole  
issue. I could imagine his expression, the way he'd dodged and while  
I wouldn't have called it conflicted, I would probably have called  
it beyond reluctant, beyond the norm as far as trying to keep things  
private. It was enough to keep some sick hope alive inside of me,  
anyway. Wishing that one day-

But no.

It had been said. It had been laid out in print and that was the  
way it was going to be.

When I remembered all of that, I got angry. Angry with myself for  
wanting him and angry with him for giving me signals, for taking  
care of me, for touching me like I was his or something-and for  
running off all the hot guys who actually were interested, for Christ's  
sake.

I always tried to keep perspective, but sometimes it would get lost  
when he'd take over my space with a long arm or a leg thrown over  
mine in just the right way to ward off anyone's advances.

Sometimes I was grateful, like at the pre-Oscar party when the fat-director-who-shall-remain-nameless  
would _not_ stop propositioning me. Gale came over, sat down,  
pulled me into his lap and kissed my neck, whispering, "Let's get  
out of here." Fatty smiled lecherously, but backed the fuck off.  
When it came to protecting me, Gale had no shame and no concern  
for the rumors.

The other cast members teased him about it, making jokes about what  
people were saying about us and otherwise taunting him. But Gale  
would just pull me close and half-grin, half-glare at them, as though  
he might have to protect me from them, too.

And I admit that it made me feel special.

Until the summer hiatus after season four, that is. I started seeing  
the photographs of Gale with his latest co-star. A girl named Beth.  
I chose to block out her last name. But there it was: the territorial  
stance, the hip slung over in just the right way to make contact  
at all times, his arm around her shoulder, glaring down the photographers  
who dared to follow them to their car. Jealousy cut through me so  
hard and so hot that I nearly buckled over in the bookstore. My  
friend Maria thought I was going to faint. I can really be a queen  
sometimes.

She grabbed my arm and asked, "What's the matter? Are you okay?"

I nodded but she saw what I was looking at and pulled me close,  
hugging me so tightly that I couldn't breathe.

"I'm sorry, Randy. God, I'm sorry."

I shrugged and pulled away, purchasing the magazine because it had  
been crushed between us when Maria hugged me.

I should have thrown it away when we left the place, but I didn't.  
I kept it and cut the picture out, tacking it on the bulletin board  
above my desk and at night I'd meditate on it, thinking it through,  
turning everything into a black and white nightmare.

Either the protective stance meant nothing or it meant everything.  
One second I was convinced that the over-protective way he treated  
me was nothing more than a friendly, brotherly thing, and, therefore,  
I could conclude that there was nothing more than friendship between  
him and Beth, right?

But then I'd see his giant hand on her shoulder, look closely at  
the way he was holding her and I just knew in my gut that they were  
more than friends. Did that mean, then, that he felt more than just  
friendly towards me? Or was this the difference between straight  
men and gay men? Was this behavior towards me just friendly, but  
toward her it meant love?

I became a little obsessive. I started to search all of the magazines  
looking for snapshots of the two of them. I even got online and  
anonymously joined some QaF fan communities because I knew they  
would know Gale's every move a month before he even did. I was right.  
I hit the mother-load of photos and information. A simple request  
posted in a live journal and the next thing I knew I was gazing  
at picture after picture of Gale, of me and Gale, of Gale and various  
cast members, Gale with Jennifer, Gale with Beth. There. That was  
what I was searching for.

I'm ashamed to admit that I printed off the pictures of me and Gale  
and the pictures of Gale and Beth. I put them side by side and tried  
to create a list of what was alike about them and what was different.  
Who was Gale more comfortable touching? Who did he look more relaxed  
with? What did his eyes say? His lips? The way his fingers gripped  
or caressed?

I'm even more ashamed to say that I hated Beth with the fire of  
a thousand suns. I'm sure she was a very nice girl, but I was ravaged  
with jealousy. Not only was the guy I was hopelessly, sickly in  
love with not gay, but he was no longer treating me like his only  
prized possession. No, he was hanging himself over a gorgeous redhead  
with a pussy. For five brief seconds I was so jealous that I actually  
wanted to be a woman. That was terrifying. I hope I never go that  
low again.

I'm not sure that I ever concluded anything of any import from my  
analysis of those photographs. I think the only thing I came to  
know for certain was that I was a goner and that I was fucking insane.  
But, I'd known that for awhile.

The characters in my head told me that I was insane all the fucking  
time.

  


Hiatus ended and we were going back for what looked to be our final  
season. I certainly hoped that it was. As much as I loved what QaF  
had done for me as an actor, I was ready to be anyone other than  
'the adorable Justin Taylor from Queer As Folk'. And the characters  
in my head agreed with me.

Especially Johansson, the middle aged gardener from Vermont. He  
kept telling me that I was only young once and to take advantage  
of my opportunities while I can. Sometimes the characters in my  
head are helpful, and sometimes they just need to shut up.

I also couldn't help wanting to get away from Gale. I loved him.  
No, I was in love with him and it really hurt. I hadn't been that  
young when I started on the show, but I'd been young enough to be  
too open, to let someone inside my heart who would never be able  
to return my affection in the way that I desperately wanted. Sometimes,  
I sensed that Gale knew how much I loved him, truly and deeply,  
and that is part of the reason why he'd been so reluctant to disclose  
his sexuality. I think he didn't want to hurt me.

It's like Gale to do that sort of thing. He was always subjugating  
his own needs and desires to spare others, well, to spare _me_ ,  
pain. It was part of his protective side. If he could, he would  
protect me even from my own delusions. But sadly, he couldn't fight  
the wars inside my head.

Things were going fine. Shooting was tripping along without a hitch  
and I managed to avoid spending time alone with Gale after hours.  
I could tell that he was hurt. I'd never really turned down an invitation  
from him before, much less turned down five in a row. He finally  
asked me one day, his voice edged oddly, "Are you hiding a boyfriend  
at your apartment, Randy? Are you ashamed to let us meet him?"

I rolled my eyes as a reply.

"And who are you ashamed of? Your friends or him?"

"There's no boyfriend," I said calmly, using a make-up wipe to clean  
off my face.

Gale just looked at me like he didn't quite believe me. I should  
have paid more attention to that look. I should have realized that  
his protective streak would kick in.

  


I was just out of the shower and putting on some comfortable sweat  
pants and a t-shirt when the banging on my door began. Hair still  
dripping down into my eyes, I quickly grabbed some socks and tried  
to pull them on while hoping to the door. The pounding came again,  
rough and hard.

"Wait a fucking minute! Jesus!"

I have a foul mouth when I'm pissed. My mother isn't very appreciative  
of it. She says it's low class. I think talking about class is low  
class. Obviously, we differ on this subject.

I looked through the peep-hole because, hey, you never know when  
a demented fan is going to show up with a gun, demand that I go  
straight for her, or she'll shoot me in the head. And while that  
may sound funny, it really isn't out of the realm of possibility.

It was Gale.

Well fuck the fucking fucker who thought he could fucking avoid  
that fucking fuckhead. That'd be me. So, _fuck me_!

I wish.

I opened the door, already glowering because there is nothing more  
obnoxious that someone pounding on your door relentlessly after  
you've yelled that you're on your way. And there was absolutely  
nothing more obnoxious than the friend you turned down for a drink  
after work showing up on your doorstep with beer and a pizza, and  
obviously not going to take 'get the fuck out of my doorway and  
go the fuck home, because I'm in love with you and I can't take  
the pain' for an answer.

"Hey. I told you that I had plans tonight."

Gale's eyes trailed over my luxurious sweat pants and t-shirt ensemble,  
my sock half on my left foot, and my right pant leg up around my  
calf, and nodded. "I can see that."

"Fuck you."

Gale frowned, his eyes flashing wounded and angry all at once. "Why?  
What have I done, Randy?"

I rubbed my hands over my eyes hoping for some clarity, but only  
getting black and blue dots behind my lids. There really wasn't  
anything I could say to make him go away without making everything  
we both already knew completely un-ignorable.

"Nothing. I'm just stressed out." I backed away and made a sweeping  
gesture with my hand. "Come on in."

Gale didn't look convinced, but he didn't waste the opportunity  
to get inside my apartment, either. As soon as I had the door shut  
and locked, he peered around the apartment. It was a small place.  
I was only there for a few months of the year, anyway, and I didn't  
need a lot of room. He frowned and stated, "There's no one here."

"I know," I replied in my best smart-ass voice.

Michi, the main character in the novel I was writing, snickered.  
I perked up at the sound of her voice. She hadn't been talking to  
me much lately and I was kind of stalled.

"Randy?" Gale gestured around with the pizza box and beer.

"Sorry, um, here--" I took the pizza from him and crawled over the  
back of the couch, dumping it on the coffee table.

Gale toed off his shoes and climbed over the back, too. He dug into  
his pocket and brought out the swiss army knife he usually kept  
there. Some sort of throw back to his grandfather's habits, he told  
me once.

I would have volunteered to go to the tiny kitchen for the bottle  
opener, but Gale used the knife's opener to pop the lids off of  
two beers with no trouble. He handed one to me and eyed me carefully.  
I felt him taking my measure for a long time until he turned to  
the pizza box and pulled out a still steaming piece.

I wasn't all that hungry, but it smelled good, so I got a piece  
too. We sat and chewed and drank. We said nothing.

It started out tense, but then it became comfortable.

"I missed you this break. A lot. I thought we'd see more of each  
other when I got back, but it seems like you're avoiding me."

"Nah, I'm not avoiding you," I lied. "I've just been working a lot  
on that novel I told you about," I lied even more.

"Really? Cool." Gale leaned forward in interest. "Tell me more about  
it. That Michi girl talking to you yet?"

That was something that I loved about Gale. In fact, that was the  
thing that made me fall for him so hard right from the start. He  
was the first person I'd ever told about the characters that live  
in my head who hadn't suggested medical attention might be required.  
In fact, he said he knew just what I was talking about.

"Well, not so much, no. She's being very reticent for some reason."

Gale's brows knitted together and asked, "Is she mad at you for  
some reason?"

"No," I said. _Yes_ , I heard in my mind. "Maybe."

Gale finished his first beer and popped open a second. "Well, you  
know she hates it when you lie. Are you lying right now? You know,  
with your life?"

I sighed and took a long drag from my beer. Why had I ever told  
Gale these things? He knew my innermost secrets. He knew the source  
of my creativity; he knew that Michi got pissed at me last year  
when I was trying to convince myself that I should take that movie  
project instead of the play in Manhattan. He knew that Michi had  
very high standards for me. And, so, he also knew that I was doing  
something untrue to myself if she wasn't talking.

"Yeah. I guess I am."

Gale just leaned back and reached into his pocket, pulling out two  
joints and a lighter. "Want one?"

"Nope," I said, as usual.

"Okay." He lit up and the sickly sweet smell of marijuana filled  
the space between us. It was a smell that I'd grown to love because  
it meant that Gale had been here.

He took a few puffs, carefully blowing the smoke away from me, even  
so, I was already feeling the start of a second hand buzz.

"So, what kind of lies have you been living, now? Fucking girls?  
Taking on projects that force you to sell your soul? Killing infants,  
again?"

I laughed and reached over for the joint. I'd said no because Edmund,  
Michi's lover, gets pissy when I do drugs. But fuck it, sometimes  
a guy's got to ignore the make-believe people and just do what the  
fuck he wants, you know?

Gale willingly relinquished the toke, but tsk-ed under his breath.  
"Edmund will have much to say about this, young man. You should  
be ashamed."

I puffed away and ignored him. Yeah, he knew way too fucking much.

"So, lies," he prompted.

"Well, I think it might have to do with the bodies I bricked up  
in the closet of my apartment in New York," I said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, shit like that bugs the hell out of muses."

I nodded, took another hit and passed the joint back to Gale. "They  
didn't understand that I did it for _them_ , you know? To keep  
them safe."

Gale hummed as he smoked and I let my head fall back on the couch.  
I knew he'd come back for another try. He seemed laid back, but  
he was a persistent little shit.

"Does the lie have to do with your love life? You never date anyone.  
Is there something that you're ignoring or neglecting?"

Direct hit.

Panic. Panic.

"Um, maybe. I don't know. I try not to think about it. Work is really  
what's important to me at this point in my life." _Liar_ , Michi  
said.

Gale twisted to get a good look at me and said, "Everyone has needs."

I shrugged. "I can get those met with any number of extras from  
the set."

Gale finished up the joint and reached for another slice of pizza,  
popping open another beer. "That's not a relationship and you're  
not a one night stand kind of guy."

"I live in fucking Toronto half the year. I work sixteen hour days  
most of the time. I don't exactly have--"

"Yadda, yadda," Gale finished.

I shrugged and let my eyes drift closed.

"I worry about you." Gale did sound worried.

I smiled, my closed lips drawn against my teeth. "Don't. I'm fine."

"That's not what Michi says. She tells me that you're pining and  
that you're not letting the person you care for get close."

 _Fuck you, Michi,_ I raged in my head. _What the fuck are  
you doing in his mind? Get the hell out!_

"Michi's a slut if she's brain hopping like that."

"I like sluts." Gale blinked at me in feigned innocence.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. He was too adorable with his eyes  
all dilated and his lips twisted into a cute little smile. I found  
myself leaning toward him and I just let it happen. I slid over  
until I was tucked under his arm.

"I'm a slut," I said, raising a brow in exaggerated enticement.

"And I like you."

I was shocked that he kissed me. He took my chin in his hand, tilted  
my head up and just--kissed me. No tongue, but more than a peck.  
Then it was over and he'd tucked me neatly back beneath his arm.

"I think you should tell whoever it is that you're pining for that  
you want him and just be done with it. You never know what might  
happen." He paused and my heart tripped in my throat. "Besides,  
I have it on good authority that J.T. Leroy is interested in you,  
too."

Gah.

Fucking tease.

I sat as still as possible, irritated and irrationally pleased.  
I was also sporting a nice erection and that pissed me off the most.  
No fucking self control. None at all.

Gale shifted so that I could feel his breath in my hair. "I like  
your shampoo. What brand is it?"

"I dunno. Some shit that they gave me at the studio. Make-up said  
it would be good for my hair in this cold weather."

"Oh. Huh. They didn't give me any. I wonder why." He sounded genuinely  
puzzled as to why make-up would give me shampoo and not him. "I  
don't want to buy shampoo if I can get it for free from Cowlip!"

I laughed. Jesus Christ. "You're a fucking tightwad."

"I'm a starving artist!"

I laughed even harder. I loved him so much in that moment that my  
heart hurt and I wanted to cry at the same time.

He laughed, too, and turned us both so that we were now lying down  
together, with me trapped between his side and the back of the couch.  
He smelled good. He felt good. I let my head rest on his chest.

"Let's play a game," he said.

I was comfortable and the thought of breaking out the Boggle really  
didn't appeal to me. "Nah, let's just stay here."

"No, no. I mean a game that we can play right here." His voice was  
so sultry that my cock grew hard again and I pressed my ass back  
against the couch in hopes that he wouldn't feel it pressing into  
his thigh.

"What kind of game?"

"I want to ask you questions and then you tell me the honest to  
God truth. And then you can do the same for me."

"Isn't this a game that ten year olds play on the school bus?"

"Yes. But I'm ten on the inside."

"Oh, well, then in that case."

"Right." Gale reached around, grabbed my ass and pulled me close  
against his side. "Let's go for an easy one, first, okay?"

"Sure." It sounded much more gaspy than I'd intended.

"Do you find me sexually attractive?"

Fuck. That was an easy one? And he didn't waste time getting to  
the dirt, did he? I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I pushed  
against his leg as hard as I could, grinding my erection into his  
thigh, biting off a moan, and saying, "What do you think?"

He was quiet for a second and then shifted just minutely away from  
me. My blood ran cold. That had to have been the wrong answer.

"You're turn," he said, softly.

My mind was paralyzed with humiliation and fear. The small move  
away told me worlds of information and I fought back tears as I  
tried to think of a question to ask. But all I could think was,  
 _How could you trick me into admitting that? Why did you have  
to make me say it?_

"Randy? Your turn."

Michi hissed in my mind, _Ask him if he would prefer to fuck you,  
or if he wants you to fuck him._

I closed my eyes and wanted to kill her. But she wasn't real, so  
that wasn't possible.

 _Real enough to torment you,_ she murmured. _I have a story  
I want to tell. Don't you want to hear it?_

She knew that I did.

 _Then ask him._

"Um, do you..have you--" I gasped, trying to catch my breath. A  
new question came to my mind and I knew it was my own and it was  
one I'd wondered about for a long, long time. "Have you ever had  
sex with a man? I mean, real sex."

Gale was silent. And silent. And silent.

I knew exactly what expression would be on his face if I lifted  
my head to look. It would be that dark, deep expression that meant  
he was pondering all sides of his answer before giving it.

"Yes."

Yes. He'd said yes. Yes. "Yes?"

"Yeah, I said yes."

"Oh."

Gale laughed. "Oh, huh? Okay. My turn."

"W-wait a minute," I twisted and tried to sit up, but Gale rolled  
a little to pin me in place. "I want details. When? Who? How? Why?"

Gale snorted. "You can ask on your next question, okay?"

"I hate this game. I quit. I'm not playing anymore." I struggled  
against him but he held me and scooted down so that we were now  
face to face.

"Why are you so surprised?"

I tried to stay calm, but inside I was a fever and a war all at  
once. "Why? Because you adamantly claimed to be straight on more  
than one occasion!"

"I never _adamantly_ claimed to be straight. That'd be Hal.  
I just made statements. That's all."

I stared at him. I couldn't breathe or talk, really. My mind was  
a whirl.

"Okay, I can see that I'm going to have to tell you about it." He  
didn't sound thrilled with the prospect. "I guess I shouldn't mind  
telling you. I just--" He fluttered his eyes and then looked at  
me and said, "I've had sex with three different guys. Not all at  
once," he added on hastily. That made me crack a smile.

He smiled back and seemed to relax a little. He put his hand on  
my hip and sort of rubbed with his thumb.

"The first time. Okay, let's see. His name was Alex and I was sixteen.  
He was, um, twenty-two, I think. I totally had a hero worship thing  
for him and he knew all about it. I harassed him all summer. He  
was one of the best soccer players at Princeton at that time and  
he lived in my neighborhood. I thought he was just the shit."

I nodded and shifted so that my arm was a little more comfortable.  
He shifted, too, until I had a better spot.

"So, he had me over to his house. We had beers. I gave him a blow  
job. He fucked me. The end."

I blinked. There was more there than that, but the tight quality  
to Gale's face told me that now was not the time to ask.

"Guy number two: Monroe. Freshman year in college. My roommate.  
We got high, we got drunk and we fucked. We liked it so we did it  
off and on all year. He didn't come back for sophomore year."

Gale sounded almost removed from this recitation and I was fighting  
my shock at the depth of his experience. I would have thought only  
once or twice, not...many times.

"Guy number three: Jesse. Five years ago. Just before I agreed to  
play Brian Kinney. He wanted a relationship. I wanted a fuck. We  
didn't share the same goals. The end."

"But--" I started. I cleared my throat. "Um, then why--"

"Do I identify as straight? Because I've had sex with three guys,  
but I've had sex with forty or fifty women. I lost count sometime  
a few years ago. Women are my main interest."

If conflicted is a physical state, then my atoms were coming apart,  
because I couldn't stop the alterations between hope and utter desolation.  
He does fuck men, high as the sky. But women are his main interest,  
lower than the depths of hell.

"Randy? Hey, hey. Breathe, okay?"

He cradled me close. When I could finally breathe again, he muttered,  
"Now comes the hard part."

I was so delirious that I cackled at his phasing. He didn't laugh,  
but simply waited for my hysteria to pass.

"So, I was talking to Michi, and she tells me that you're in love  
with me."

 _Fucking whore!_ I screamed mentally. _I will find a way  
to kill you! I'll kill you in the fucking novel! You're never, ever  
going--_

"Stop bitching her out in your head."

"I wasn't."

"Sure. So, anyway, that's what she had to say about it and I thought  
we should get some things out on the table."

Oh, I knew what that meant. That meant badness was on the way.

I sat up and he let me, rolling into a seated position himself.  
"Okay. Get it out on the table, then."

He swallowed, blinked his eyes in that way that meant he was going  
to say something that hurt. "I know how you feel about me and I  
want to tell you that I feel the same way, but--"

I stood up. I held up my hands. "Just, please, before you say anything  
more that will make our working relationship difficult. Please just  
leave." My throat was so tight that I could barely make out the  
words, my voice gravely and raw.

Gale took a slow breath and grabbed the second joint. He lit it  
and leaned back on the couch, propping his feet up by the pizza  
box on the coffee table. I knocked his feet off and said, "Stop  
it. You're not Brian Kinney."

He laughed. "I'm going to tell you and you can't stop me. If you  
don't let me say it, I'll tell Michi and send her to tell you. And  
you know as well as I do that once she's talking you can't shut  
her up."

I narrowed my eyes at him and tried to decide if this whole Michi  
business was bullshit. Sometimes I let fantasy become too real.

 _It's real,_ she whispered.

"Fuck you."

"No. Not right now. I was going to say that I want to tell you that  
I feel the same for you but I can't because I'm in a relationship  
right now with Beth and that wouldn't be fair to her."

I blinked at him. His words made no sense. None whatsoever. "What  
the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the dynamics of a relationship and that despite  
the fact that I would like to tell you that I'm in love with you,  
too, that wouldn't be fair to Beth."

I blinked some more. "Wait. Are you saying you're in love with me?"

Gale sighed dramatically. "No, I'm _not_ saying that because  
it would be unfair to Beth."

"Get out." I grabbed the joint from him, stubbed it out on the pizza  
box and grabbed the front of his shirt, trying to haul him up off  
the couch. "Get the fuck out."

He seemed genuinely confused and only resisted a little. I pushed  
him toward the door and he let me push him on out. I slammed the  
door, covered my face with my hands and tried to breathe. I was  
going to die of lack of oxygen. I was going to die because Gale  
was the cruelest, most evil son of a bitch in the universe. I fought  
back tears and scrubbed my face. Then I spotted them. His shoes.

I picked them up and opened the door. Gale stood by the elevator,  
his shoulders hunched, his hands in his pockets, just in his socks.  
I threw the shoes down the hall toward him, yelling, "You forgot  
your goddamn shoes!" Like I said, I can be huge queen sometimes.

I didn't look to see where they landed, slamming the door and engaging  
the locks.

What was that old saying, "Be careful what you wish for because  
you just might get it"? Well, I'd wished. I'd gotten. And it was  
nothing like what I'd wanted.

  


I didn't sleep at all that night. My heart was broken and I felt  
utterly betrayed by Gale. If he was going to hurt me, why did he  
have to do it in a way that would ruin our friendship, too?

The next morning I ignored the phone. I ignored the pounding on  
the door. I ignored him screaming that he wanted to talk. I ignored  
it when I looked up and found him on the fire escape staring in  
the window at me. Stupid Toronto. Why hadn't I picked a newer building  
and chosen an apartment on, say, the twentieth floor?

As if Gale wasn't enough to deal with, Michi was in fits. I tried  
to soak in the tub but her ranting drove me crazy. I couldn't sleep  
for her constant needling. And maybe Gale was right; maybe she was  
going to visit him, because she said a lot of shit that sounded  
like his phrasing. Fucking whore muse.

And Edmund joined in the "Randy's A Bad Man" chorus when I downed  
two Xanax with a shot of bourbon.

Fuck them.

Fuck them all.

  


I woke up to find Gale standing over my bed. I screamed and hit  
my head against the headboard as I leapt back.

"What the fuck? What are you--? How did you--?" I gulped and scrambled  
to pull the sheets up.

"I got the spare key from Peter." Gale looked a little ashamed.  
"I told him that I thought you might be in trouble in here."

I didn't even know what to say, so I just stared at him, open mouthed  
and confused.

"I was worried when you wouldn't answer the door. I thought you  
might have hurt yourself."

I smirked. "You think I'm going to kill myself because you have  
a girlfriend? Get over yourself."

"No. I thought maybe you'd had an accident. After you took the Xanax  
and all."

I narrowed my eyes. "How did you know about that?"

"Would you believe me if I said that Michi told me?"

"No."

Gale sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I just know you, okay? I know  
you like I know myself in some ways. Like, there are parts of you  
that I totally get, and then parts that I'll never see. Just like  
with me."

I threw my arms wide in frustration. "What the fuck do you want  
from me? Why are you doing this?"

Gale sank down onto the bed and I scooted as far away from him as  
possible. He looked embarrassed, worried and terrified all at once.  
"I wanted to--" He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven face. "God,  
this sounds so much stupider today."

"Just spit it out."

"It made so much sense last night."

"That's because you were high as shit. So, just fucking tell me  
and be done with it. Then get the hell out."

He reached toward me but I didn't move closer. He let his hand fall.  
"I wanted to ask you to wait for me. You know, until this thing  
with Beth is through. Wait until it's over?"

I let out a long exhalation and shook my head. What could I say  
to that? Right now I was so angry with him that I wanted to kick  
him to death, how could I agree to wait for him? And what if I didn't  
fucking want to wait?

"No. I'm not going to agree to that."

His eyes fell closed and he nodded. "Then I'll just have to pray  
that you don't find someone else in the meantime."

 _Oh, believe me, you won't,_ Michi hissed.

As usual, she turned out to be right.

  


It was another celebrity function and Gale had his hands full. He  
had brought Beth with him and he seemed to be having trouble keeping  
his eye on both of us. Even Hal commented on it, saying, "He's going  
to swivel his head off if you don't stop moving around."

I shrugged and decided to disappear into a different crowd. I could  
hear Hal's laughter as I ducked away.

I really hated these things. I hated all the people and the fakeness  
and the schmoozing I was required to do. There were parts of fame  
and show business that really fucking sucked.

I huddled in a corner nursing a drink when a hot-actor-who-shall-not-be-named  
came up to me, leaning against the wall beside me. I swear to God,  
I don't think that introductions had been completely made when Gale  
was there, his arm on my shoulder and measuring hot-actor up, glaring  
him down.

Small talk passed between us and it was obvious that Gale didn't  
approve of hot-actor, because he was relentless in his pawing of  
me, despite my constant battle with his hands. And he was extra-long-windedly  
stupid sounding, using lots of annoying 'you know's and making no  
sense at all. He was probably stoned, too.

Hot-actor had enough and left. I closed my eyes and counted to ten.  
I calmly shoved away from Gale and headed toward the bathroom, and  
I could feel him at my heels. I gritted my teeth, telling myself  
that if he followed me into the bathroom, it would be fair game  
to kill him.

Michi tsk-ed. She didn't agree.

The men's room was empty. Gale stood behind me while I pissed.

"Jesus Christ, Gale. What is your problem?"

"I just don't like you being alone at these things. It worries me.  
You're uncomfortable and I don't like it when you're uncomfortable."

"Do you know what's making me uncomfortable right this second?"

"What?"

"You hovering over me while I'm taking a goddamn piss!"

He backed off, but I didn't hear the bathroom door close. I finished,  
zipped up and turned to the sink. He was leaning against the door  
and looking miserable. A beautiful look on Gale, by the way.

"Randy, I know that you're angry with me. But I just want to keep  
you safe. These people are vultures around here."

"I'm not some sissy boy who needs your protection!" I snapped.

"I never said you were!"

"Then why the hell are you always climbing all over me at these  
things? What are you trying to prove?" I finished washing my hands  
and dried them on a towel.

"I just want to keep you safe," he repeated, coming close and putting  
his arms around me.

"I can keep myself safe. And right now, I think I need to be protected  
from you."

I shoved at his chest, pushing him away from me. The expression  
of hurt on his face cut me to the quick, and I had to fight the  
urge to reach out and pull him back, to pet and coddle him, to remind  
him that I was desperately, sickly in love with him.

Instead I steeled myself and turned my back, stalked out of the  
bathroom and back to the party. I would have fun. I would have some  
drinks. And I would leave with the cute waiter. Gale could go fuck  
himself. Or Beth, rather.

  


Months passed and I didn't see him. I didn't hear from him. I didn't  
know if I was glad or sad that he'd given up his stalking of me.  
I supposed he'd finally decided that I could take care of myself.

I found out from Maria's _People_ magazine that Gale and Beth  
had broken up. Beth what's-her-face. I still had her last name totally  
blocked. And I refused to see any movie she was in. I could be petty  
that way.

I started to become morbidly depressed about the fact that QaF was  
over and that I wouldn't be returning to Toronto in the fall. I  
wouldn't be returning to Gale.

I started smoking pretty heavily. I liked the way it made my voice  
sound. I got laid a lot, but I didn't date anyone special. I realized  
that despite having said no, that I wouldn't wait for him, I had--and  
I was.

When he finally came to me, I had given up completely. But then,  
one day when I was walking home with an armload of groceries, grateful  
for the lack of recognition or fan encounters, I looked up to see  
him sitting on the stoop of my apartment building, smoking a cigarette.

My heart burst in my chest.

I think I died right then and there.

He was gorgeous. And I loved him madly. And he was waiting for me.

  


He helped me unpack my groceries. We were careful with each other,  
asking superficial questions first. Then he asked, "How's Michi?  
She never comes to see me anymore."

I smiled. "I killed her."

Gale's eyes went wide. "What?"

"She died. I wrote the book and at the end she died and poof. She's  
gone. Bye, bye Michi. That fucking whore bitch."

Gale busted out laughing.

"Edmund spends a lot of time at her grave crying. I'm really sick  
of him. I think I should off him, too."

Gale grabbed hold of the kitchen counter wheezing with laughter.  
I couldn't help but join him. He's got one of the warmest and best  
laughs I've ever heard. It's hard not to laugh with him.

He looked amazing. His hair was a wreck, his face unshaven for days,  
and he looked a little stoned around the eyes. But not much.

"I've missed you," he said, grabbing me in a hug. I turned my face  
into it, nuzzling his neck, as he held me tight.

He moved back a little, grabbed my chin and tilted my head up. "Are  
you seeing anybody?"

I shook my head.

The kiss was breath-taking. My knees buckled and he held me up.  
I suppose that I'd like to say that we went to my bed and made love.  
But we didn't.

We fucked in the kitchen. On the counter. On the floor. Shoved against  
the refrigerator. Gale couldn't seem to get enough and we didn't  
stop for a long, long, long time.

I was glad I'd bought condoms at the store, conveniently located  
in the shopping bag on the counter. Some things are just fated from  
the beginning.

  


The Golden Globes are a big deal, so, I was understandably nervous.  
A few new characters had moved into my head and I'd written a play.  
I was hoping to meet some people who might help to get it produced.

Gale sensed my anxiety and had his hand on me at all times. I think  
he actually scared Harrison Ford who came up to tell me he'd liked  
my recent work. I put my hand over Gale's in a soothing gesture  
and he backed down a little when the next person came over to talk.

We'd come out in a huge firestorm of controversy. Our friends had  
even been angry with us, thinking that we'd been lying to them for  
all the years we filmed the show together. It took awhile to straighten  
everyone out on the subject.

Gale was still over-protective of me at times, but I loved it now  
more than ever because I knew those grabbing hands were touching  
me out of desire, not out of an act of obligation.

After some hours of hob-knobbing and talking to a few of the right  
people about the play, Gale was whispering in my ear about taking  
my suit off and licking every inch of my skin. So, I was ready to  
leave.

Hotel sheets under my knees, hotel pillow between my teeth, I held  
on as he fucked me. He grabbed my cock and pumped with even strokes.  
I squirmed against him, so close to the edge. So close to coming.

"It's okay. I've got you. I've always got you."

My knees gave out as I slammed into orgasm, writhing and clutching  
his hands, my cry probably much too loud. I felt him coming, too.  
His hot breath on my neck and his cock pulsing in my ass.

"Always got you."

Yeah, he did.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for the odd formatting. The import came in this way due to the site I have it archived at, and I would have had to delete the return at the end of every sentence to make it format the way I would have preferred. Laziness won out.


End file.
